


Looking For A Little Romance

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: Take my hand--Take My Whole life too [27]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Boyfriends, Dinner, Flowers, Fluff, Future Fic, I enjoyed this, M/M, Romance, Tattoos, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 19:18:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3781339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Tilting her head, Mandy feels her smile quirk up. “It means that you couldn't do romance if I fucking paid you too, that's what. That's why you always leave it to him to do all the mushy shit.” " </p><p>For Anon!--Prompt: Mickey and Ian try to out romance each other. All the fluff. =D (BTW: I prompted the "Ian getting Mickey off" story and it is FANTASTIC. I love it thank you! =D)--</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking For A Little Romance

**Author's Note:**

> Loved this prompt, and I love you Anon! - I hope this is okay, so let me know what you think!!!? 
> 
> Prompt me: im-an-angel-y0u-ass.tumblr.com (would love to hear what you think aswell, so don't be afraid to message me!"
> 
> Layouts a little weird in the middle, I will sort it out..

 

“Hey, dickhead!” Mickey yelled as he stepped through his and Ian's apartment door. They had just moved in a couple of weeks back, through all the struggle of unloading boxes, arguing over where things went, fucking on every inch of the place – including the laundry shoot (which wasn't the most pleasant position, but Mickey learned to love his bruised shoulder), the place wouldn't be the same with Mickey's bitchy whining or Ian's lame jokes, so they guess they could call the place _theirs._

 

As soon as he shouts, he's hit with the smell of food. More specifically _steak._ Mickey's body internally craved the shit out of steak, mainly for the fact they hadn't had a real meal in so, so long, and because they never had enough money to buy some good quality meat. Mickey strips from his coat and through the steamy mist, he can already see Ian flapping about in the kitchen.

 

Ian had planned this. Mickey knew he had. He knew because the lights were dimmed, like some fucking fancy-ass restaurant, the table was already set – which never happened, they usually ate on the couch - and they _even_ had matching cutlery. (Sometimes Mickey would even have to eat with Yevgeny's small baby spoon, because they were lazy shits who didn't like the idea of washing up.)

Plus, there was the fact Ian was actually cooking. It was pretty rare that Ian cooked from scratch other than from a tin can, or a ready meal pack. Mickey usually cooked and when eh did it was usually looked like charcoal.

Mickey scratches the back of his neck, chucking his coat against the side of the chair. "Hey, I said I'm fucking home." He waits till Ian turns to look at him, because that's what he always did with a lob-sided smile that made Mickey's insides twist. At this point, he's too enchanted with the sight of Ian bending over to look into the oven to even _care_ about how uncomfortable this made him.

Fuck the steak – he was eating that ass tonight.

"Shit." Ian voice jumps. The redhead is rushing around, trying to stir pans whilst holding the tray of cooked steaks. "Hey, er, Mick. I'll be one minute, how was work?" As soon as he spoke Mickey could tell he was freaking out.

"Same as usual, boring as fuck. Since when did you fucking ask me that?" He strips down from his overall's – the job at the garage was enough, it paid the bills, Mickey liked cars, Ian liked seeing Mickey oily, it was a win-win _and_ the money was good. Mickey grabs a pair of Ian's strayed sweats that were lying around by the kitchen. Walking over, he leans against the kitchen wall, after slipping the pants on. “What _are_ you doing there, Firecrotch?”

Ian lets out a sigh of relief, still holding the tray of meat. “You haven't called me that in years.” Which was true, ever since they got serious Mickey had called him by his real name or just _Gallagher._

“You didn't answer my question, though.” Mickey points out, crossing his arms.

Ian slowly pulls off his oven gloves with his teeth. If anything was hot, it was fucking that. Mickey couldn't stop staring when the redhead snapped back, "Cooking. What does it look like?"

"Since when did you make meals that didn't come out of a plastic packet?" Mickey scoffed, nearing to Ian so he could eye up the food that smelt so good. The redhead swatted the older boy away, his hand flying through his hair frustratedly. Mickey's stomach turns and he knows now he's more hungry than anything.

"Since now. Go sit the fuck down so I can serve you this up, time and effort went into this so let me make it presentable." Ian asks with a sharp tone, as he laid out the meal against two plates on the counter.

Mickey pulled a face, scowling. "You do know who you're fucking talking to, right, I don't do presentable." They had been doing this for years, Ian knew Mickey didn't give a shit about showing their devotion through actions and lousy restaurant dinners. It still didn't stop the warmth in his heart because Ian had actually _thought_ about him.

"Yeah, an asshole." Ian snaps back, kicking the oven door closed. "Now sit down and shut up." He holds onto the two plates, cursing at the heat brimming the edges.

Mickey sits himself down in his usual seat, (Yes, they had seats, deal with it) and grabs his strangely-polished knife and fork. "Should I start chanting now? _Why are we waiting...why are we waiting-"_

"Are you always such a big dick?" Ian shakes his head, he would of cuffed the back of Mickeys if it wasn't for the three-hour- meal he had been batching up. The brunette was giggling, still smacking the cutlery on the top of the table.

"Its in the genes." Mickey shrugs, sitting back against the chair as Ian lays out their meal in front of them. "But, I'm more interested in the dick in _those_ jeans." He reaches out to grab onto Ian's bulging pants, but the redhead swats him away, his face stern.

The redhead raises an eyebrow, waiting for the older boy to get it. “Maybe later. You're eating this first.” He taps his knife against the side of Mickey's plate.

“What do I get out of this?” Mickey challenges.

Ian stares Mickey down, lips tugging at the side, he slowly places his meat into his mouth. “You eat the steak, I eat you.” In a split second, Ian knows he's got him. He had known Mickey too long to not know the signals, the quick actions that got him going, he _knew_ Mickey, the only thing he wanted to know was what the hell he was thinking.

Mickey licks the seam of his licks, quickly tucking into the steak onto his place. “What's all this shit for anyway?” He waves his fork around, gesturing towards the dozen of candles, the dimmed lighting – that Mickey could clearly see that Ian had covered the lamps with towels – and the meal laid out in-front of him, that looked _way_ to corny.

“This _shit_ was a surprise for you, so at-least pretend to be grateful. This stuff only comes once a year.” Ian answers back exhaustedly. Mickey coughs back a laugh when Ian starts stabbing at his food, the knife aggressively cutting into the steak.

Mickey sniggers, knowing how much it aggravated the other man. “Ian, you did this last week.” In which he did, but they didn't particularly get to the eating stage, well maybe Ian did, but he wasn't exactly eating steak, more like another meat he was really in to.

“That's not my fucking point!” Ian chuckles, hitting Mickey on the arm playfully. Bashfully, he hides his smile behind his fork. Mickey was a dick, but he was _his_ dick.

“So what _is_ your point?”

Ian raises his eyebrows like he's trying to say _wow._ “Can I not do something nice for my boyfriend, is that such a crime?” The redhead starts to chew animatedly, not really enjoying his own cooking – because who did like their own cooking – he rests his head against his hand, knowing that it was a bad idea to actually do something _nice._

Mickey places his hand across the table. “Gallagher, you know that doing something nice for me is, like, I don't know, eating take outs on the couch, a fuckload of weed and a bottle of Jacks. You didn't need to go all out?” Somehow, he needed to make this a little better. Ian looks like someone just killed his dog, and Mickey really fucking hated that expression. He flicks over a chip, that fell off his plate, it hits Ian directly in the middle of the head.

“Fuck you.” Ian cracks a smile, rubbing the sore spot where the chip had landed. “I was trying to be romantic, you ass.” he ducks his head, trying to hide his reddened face from blushing.

“Well, er, thanks.” Mickey stutters out, he would never stop being awkward in emotional situations. He leans over the table, hand tapping against Ian's chin to lift it. “I fucking mean it.”

Ian's eyes lock with his, “You don't have to thank me, I _wanted_ to do this.” He grips to Mickey's wrist, pulling him a little closer despite the diversion of the table. Just as their lips were barely brushing, the front door swings open and the mood evaporates into the steam filled air.

“Jesus Christ, did you really have to live on the fifth floor?” It was Mandy, struggling to push the baby stroller through the narrow space of the door. “Any of you asses going to help me or you going to stare like this is on fucking Broadway?” Ian is the first person to rush up, he was always Mr Nice guy and Mickey both admired and hated it.

Ian wipes his hands against his pants as he approaches the stroller, “Hey, Mands, the lift not working?” He gives her a side-awkward hug over the top of the pram, he leans down towards Yevgeny and tickles under his chin.

“Does it look like the fucking lift is working, my legs are literally on _fire.”_ Mandy leans against the frame of the door, only just noticing what she had barged into. “Speaking of fire, what's that smell?”

“Gallagher set fire to the fucking oven!” Mickey calls over, still engrossed in his plate of food.

Ian flips his boyfriend off, unbuckling the straps from around the little Milkovich. “I didn't set fire to the oven, I cooked the food you're stuffing into your mouth so shut the hell up.” He lifts Yevgeny onto his hip, letting the little boy latch onto the dog-tags that he had found throughout the move. The kid had a obsession with them.

“Shit, did I interrupt your gay fest?” Mandy points her finger around the room.

“Yeah-” Mickey starts to be interrupted by Ian.

Ian pulls Mandy in with his free hand, kicking the stroller further into the living space. “No, you can join us. There's a lot of food, you want any?”

“Nah, we just ate – didn't we sweet cheeks.” Mandy squeezes Yevgeny's cheeks, gently, before she smacks Ian on the forehead. “I'll annoy the shit out my brother though, that's always fun.” She jumps into the pulled out chair, previously occupied by Ian, Mickey groans trying to turn away from her.

“Be my guest.” Ian snickers, twirling around the living area to calm Yevgeny down to his sleepy stage. He can almost feel Mickey's middle finger facing his back, he doesn't really care, he can get him back in sexual favours.

  * “Fuck off, Gallagher. Your food is shit.” Mickey yells, despite his mouth filled, full with food. Mandy slaps her hand across his head, stealing a couple of chips off his plate. “Fuck off bitch, get your own.”

“I don't want my own, I want yours.” Mandy sniggers, taking another chip before Mickey has chance to protest.

Ian sways, watching the siblings fight over one chip. It's cute really. The room was full of people he adored the most, and yes – he fucking get enough of it. Yevgeny shifts in his arms, his eyes drooping closed despite the racket coming from the dinner table. “I'm going to put him to bed, er, Mands if you want some food just take mine. Mickey looks like he's going to kill someone. Specifically you.” He smiles. Mickey grunts around his fork as Ian walks down the small hall towards Yev's bedroom at the end.

“So, why were you having a set meal again. Thought you guys lived like barbarians?” Mandy asks as soon as Ian wasn't in the room, she looks around – most of the candles were out from the gust of wind that came through the door, one of the lamps had toppled over, but atleast the food was good, _really_ good.

“Fuck head wanted to make me a meal, thought it was _romantic.”_ Mickey rolled his eyes, secretly pushing back his smile. To be honest, it was kind of romantic, but they didn't _do_ romantic. The furtherest they got was a cheap-movie on the television, that never got watched anyway.

Mandy quickly scans the room, stuffing a couple more chips into her mouth, she nods appreciatively around the room. “He's not wrong, this is pretty romantic.” She grabs Ian's fork, pulling his plate towards her.”Plus, when he gets down to it, he's fucking good at cooking.”

Mickey shoots her a glare. “No it isn't. It's just a fucking meal.” He had no idea why he suddenly when defensive, he felt it was mostly because it reminded him of how much he didn't do for Ian – he did a lot yes, but not with affection, he didn't know Ian wanted it _that_ much.

“Firstly; when does Ian ever cook _without_ burning the place down.” Mandy raises a finger, tilting her head as if she already knew she was right. “Secondly; it's pretty fucking clear he did this for a reason, is it an anniversary or something?” She racks her thoughts, looking around in case there happened to be something she had missed.

Mickey wants to slam his head into his food – but with it tasting so good, he can do it after his steak was fully gone – he stabs his fork into the meat, forcefully, wanting to make a clang against the plate. “Yeah, anniversary for being a sappy dick.”

Mandy kicks him under the table, dodging his retaliation. “You're just jealous because he's more romantic than you.”

“He fucking isn't.”

Rolling her eyes, Mandy scoffs around her fork. “He is, Mick. Let's face it, you and Ian aren't ones to show how affectionate you are, you kinda do that through banging each other all hours of the day.” She grimaces as Mickey nods proudly. “Okay, no need to be fucking smug about it. I'm just saying, out of the two of you he's definitely the most romantic.”

Mickey drops his fork against his plate, forgetting about the food through his sudden defensive mode. “What does that even mean?”

Tilting her head, Mandy feels her smile quirk up. “It means that you couldn't do romance if I fucking paid you too, that's what. That's why you always leave it to him to do all the mushy shit.”

Mickey suddenly feels rivalled up, like Mandy's testing him. Sure, Ian did a lot of romantic things but not because Mickey _doesn't._ But it didn't mean he felt any less shit. Maybe Ian did want a lot of displayed affection – he just never said. It was more of a challenge than anything – maybe Ian felt the same as Mandy – Maybe Mickey did too.

“I'll fucking show him romance.” He spurts out, the challenge driving him now.

Mandy raises her eyebrows, chuckling mockingly. “You do that. I'll laugh when you blush like a bitch.”

Mickey reaches over to give her a nipple twist, using his strength to avoid her protests. “I don't fucking blus-”

They both are too engrossed with fighting each other, Ian comes by unnoticed, leaning against the frame of the door. “What are you two fighting about?” His smirk enlarges on his face as he moves towards the table to take a seat.

Mickey releases his sister, huffing back to take a breath against his seat. Rubbing at her shirt, Mandy hisses across the table, frowning intensely. “Oh you know, the usual _I'm Mickey Milkovich and I'm a dick,_ so not change really.”

Ian bursts out into laughter at the awful impression, he bends backwards as Mickey's hand launches over to him. “Alright then, sounds about right.”

“Fuck you, Gallagher.” Mickey spits, suddenly feeling like the two of them were purposely ganging up on him.

“Already did, and probably will later.” Ian smirks, temptingly licking at his lips.

Mandy surrenders her hands in the air, already knowing where it was leading too, she scrapes back her chair and wipes a hand across her mouth. “Anyway, I've gotta go fuck my boyfriend, so I'll get going. You can finish your date – dinner – whatever the hell it is.”

Ian pulls her into a hug, squeezing her tighter than usual. It was good to see her so happy, so healthy, without the hanging burden of Kenyatta breathing down her neck. Through the emotional hug, Mickey's voice echoes through the room. “Good riddance, bitch.”

Mandy turns her and Ian's bodies around so she could face her brother. “Fuck you, asshole.”

The redhead pulls away from the embrace, well pleased with himself. “Nah, that's my job.” Mickey snorts from the table, muffling his laugh with a closed mouth.

Jolting away, nearly gipping, Mandy rushes out of the hug. “Jesus, I didn't need to know that.” She squeezes the small space between her eyebrows, clenching her eyes shut as the other two laughed around her. “Just erase that from my head, right now. Just-t.-”

“Thought you were leaving?” Mickey's voice remained undone, tired and just plain uninterested.

Mandy dramatically flips him off, even using the leverage of her bent knees to get it across. Ian guides her to the door, as she shouts. “I am you whiny bitch.” She winks towards her brother, still teasing him about their conversation, that of course made Mickey even more uncomfortable. Mickey doesn't hear Ian's solemn goodbye, his thoughts about what to do were more than aggravating. 

  * “Later homo's!” Mandy shouts as the door slams shut, they can hear her laughing down the hall-way, like everytime she came over. Mickey stuffs some more food into his mouth, half-heartedly trying to listen to Ian's chatter across the table. But all he could think of was how to show he could be romantic. Because he fucking could.




 

That's how he ended up in some posh-ass restaurant that sold platters and three-course meals that cost more than any of his wage slips. Ian was sat directly across from him, wearing a white button-up that made this situation a hell-lot worse – it was hard trying to hide your wood under a two person table. The whole place made him itch, it was utterly uncomfortable – but for Ian, he could deal with this. It had been his idea afterall – he had to show Ian that he was more romantic than him, because he had to be, right.

“Jesus, Mick. Calm down, what you acting so nervous for?” Ian puts his hand ontop of Mickey's, his thumb brushing against the skin lightly. It was only the simple touches that made Mickey relax, some-how they made him feel safe.

Mickey doesn't bother to move his hand, he just turns his head around frantically. “I ain't fucking nervous.” The table knocks where his leg bounces beneath it, Ian's leg slowly slips beside it running up and down against his jeans.

“Hm, okay then tough guy.” Ian runs off his tongue, smoothly. “Why did you want to bring me here, anyway?” He didn't sound confused, more surprised than anything. Mickey hated that Ian was so surprised by his action of affection, he should expect it. He should know that Mickey likes to show him off.

Mickey bites at his lip, “You're making it sound like I forced you to come.”

As Mickey makes a move to release his hand, Ian grips at his wrist. “Well, you kind of did.” He tilts his head, smiling sweetly and innocently. “If I remember correctly, you chucked a shirt at my head and said if I didn't come you'd chop my dick off.” Which obviously Ian couldn't let happen, and obviously Mickey wasn't going to do it. He needed that dick.

“Just an incentive.” Mickey shrugs, still a little nervous of his surroundings.

Ian lets out a chuckle – one in which Mickey couldn't help but feel a rush from hearing – he leans further onto the table, eyes wondering over Mickey's blushed face. “Whatever it was, it worked didn't it.” His face splits into a smile and Mickey can't help but to reciprocate.

“Never knew you could be so romantic.” Ian adds, leaning back.

Why did everyone question him? Did he look incapable of taking his boyfriend out for a date – dinner- whatever they label it as. “I'm more romantic that you.” The waiter steps over, trying to interject into the conversation, but they carry on talking.

“Bullshit.” Ian spits out, waving the waiter away. “This is the first time you actually taken me out, if anyone is Mr Romance its _me.”_ He smacks his own chest, wiggling his eyebrows.

Mickey feels himself heat up once more. There was no way Ian was beating him in this. “You don't take me out either, asshole. I'm pretty sure this is more romantic than a meal in our apartment?” There, he had him. Ian couldn't fight against that.

Ian swats at his arm harshly. “It's the thought that counts, you dick.”

Sternly, Mickey shakes his head. “Don't change a thing, Gallagher.” As much as Ian pouted, and as much as he looked fucking adorable, he wasn't giving in. He would win this, whatever game it was.

Ian sulks for a couple of seconds, trying to win Mickey over with his child-like features. It didn't work. For once. So, he took another route - “Okay then, big shot. If you're so romantic... _prove_ it.” He clicks his tongue, challenging him.

Mickey matches Ian's position against the table. “Bring it on, fuckhead.”

***

Things started to get serious. Each day it got worse and the game was getting stronger.

 

_Ian rushes towards the front door, the knock sounded persistent and he couldn't help but nearly slip on the wet floor in a towel wrapped around his waist. “Hello?” he pulls the door open, welcoming the sight of a delivery guy with a bouquet of daises in his hands._

“ _Delivery for Mr...Ian Gallagher?” The guy asks, clipboard in his hand as his monotone voice echoed down the hall._

_Ian nods, dipping lower to try see who they were from. “Yeah, ur, do I need to sign?”_

_The guy shook his head, flipping the papers back as he handed the flowers over. “Nah, the guy who sent them said he lived here, said it would be okay to send them round. Already signed for.” After he explained, he nods and makes his way down the hall, leaving Ian standing confused._

_Until - “That fucker.” He flips the card placed in the flowers reading:_

_Dickhead, its one to me;)_

 

And stronger.

 

“ _Ay, Milkovich, you've got some flowers waiting outside for you!” Bill called out from the top of the cars hood, smacking its side to gesture Mickey to roll out from under it._

_Mickey comes out from under the car, his face covered in oil but you could still make out the confused look on his face. “What the fuck, send them back.”_

“ _I can't, they are pretty big.” Bill disagreed, walking away with his hands up in surrender._

_Grunting, he steps up and walks over to the reception point. By the front desk stood and huge box of roses, bigger than the ones he knew he sent to Ian, inside there was a card. He walked over, snatching the card from inside of the green leaves bordering the bouquet._

 

_You always go too small, Mick. I can do better;)_

“ _That fucker.” Mickey spits, already knowing what to do next._

 

Then it got more physical.

 

“ _Is there a reason for all this cheesy crap, I mean, why the hell do we need candles in a bath?” Mickey moans, stripping from his clothes, Ian's already laid back in the tub, legs open for Mickey to slid between._

“ _Oh you know, just being romantic, no big deal.” Ian teases, his eyes closed. Mickey curses under his breath – Ian was getting good at this – he reluctantly steps into the tub, water spilling over the edge of the bath, he lies against Ian's chest, letting the redhead's hands roam over his body._

_Ian chuckles against his ear. “You enjoying this, Mick?” great, he knew he had him, he just had one more thing to do._

“ _Just you fucking wait, Gallagher.” Mickey warns, trying not to moan against Ian's touch._

 

_\---_

_Ian's hand travels up Mickey's thigh, his thumb doing that stroke thing he knew got Mickey going. “So, what's this movie about?” He asks, voice a rasp whisper. Mickey had taken him to the cinema, making sure he paid for everything, because that's obviously romantic, right?_

“ _Some love shit, thought you'd like it.” Mickey snaps back, twitching in his seat. He had to be winning here._

“ _Why?” Ian questions, why the hell would Mickey think that?_

_Mickey shrugs, smirking in the darkness of the screen. “I dunno, its a little...romantic.” He feels Ian shift against his seat, most likely pissed that Mickey was imitating him and he was obviously doing better than him. Before Ian can say anything else, he pretends to yawn, doing the tactical trick of placing his arm around Ian's shoulder._

“ _Seriously?” Ian notices, laughing a little too loudly._

_Mickey just nods, smirking at the fact that he made it even. There was just one more thing to do._

_***_

_Ian rushes over to the Milkovich house, his legs growing tired from the distance of the apartment. He doesn't bother knocking on the door, he pushes through and faces Colin, he looks a little high but sober enough. “Gallagher, what the hell you doing here?”_

“ _Well, I text you but it obviously didn't get through, and I thought of something that I wanted doing, mainly for the fact that me and Mickey have been competing against eachother for who is the more romantic, and I know that this will win the who-”_

_Colin places a steady hand against Ian's excited shoulder. “Breath, red, sit the hell down and I'll sort you out.” He smacks the back of Ian's head, shaking his own with a laugh. Fucking Gallaghers._

 

–

“ _This is pretty fucking cheesy.” Iggy laughs around his joint, nudging Mickey who was sat beside him to pass it over. “But it is for Ian, so I guess I can do something for you.”_

_Mickey squints, inhaling from the joint. “I swear to god, you fuck it up I'll fuck you up.” His threats remain ineffective, Iggy sits there and laughs at him – his high catching up with him like wild-fire._

_Iggy grabs the back of his brothers neck, pushing it to the side. “I'm a professional, you should be fucking grateful, now go sit over there while I clean out the heroin needles.” He steps up, flicking his ash into an empty beer bottle against the table._

_Mickey won't regret this. This will win the game for fucking sure._

 

_***_

“Where we going, Mick?” Ian asks, his bag starting to ache against his back. Mickey had pulled him from their apartment, telling him he had something to show him, he wasn't sure what but Mickey had been acting sketchy recently. For once, he wouldn't take his top off whenever they fucked – but then again, neither would Ian.

“Be patient, wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, would it?” Mickey yells back over his shoulder as he led them towards the old, abandoned buildings that they hadn't been in since they fought and Mickey had beat the shit out of Ian. “Just shut up and close your eyes.”

Ian flaps his hands against his pants, “What, that's unfair?”

“You asked for it.” Mickey pulls out a scarf, that he hadn't worn in ages, he pulls it around Ian's face, tightening it at the back. “Here, hold my hand.” He demands without thinking, his fingers slip between Ian as he pulls him in the right direction.

Ian chuckles against the fabric on his face, his feet grounding against the rocks below him for a steadiness. “Wow, Mickey Milkovich is actually letting me hold his hand.”

“Shut up bitch, or I'll chop yours off.” Mickey breathes, getting to where he wanted them to be. He stops Ian behind him, checking everything was how he left it. Softly, he pulls the blind-fold off Ian's face, ruffling the redhair as it dropped from his face. “When I said I'd be romantic, I fucking meant it.”

That's when Ian finally saw what Mickey wanted him to see. It was a blanket spread out against the hard floor, pillows littering along the wall for them to lie against, there was two big bottles of wine, a bottle of jacks and from what he could see a pouch of weed. “Mick-k-”

“I said shut up, Gallagher, come on.” He grabs onto Ian's hand again, for some reason he really liked the feel of it against his own. The way Ian's soft hands collided with his rough, it sort of fit in a confusing way. Mickey leads him to the blanket, pointing up to the ceiling. Ian directs his gaze to Mickey's viewpoint, noticing the gaping hole in the roof, all he saw was stars, stars that he hadn't had the chance to admire in years.

“Mickey, you didn't have to-”

“Yes, I fucking did. I've got to win, haven't I?” Mickey smirks, sitting himself down and then patting the vacant spot beside him for Ian to take. The redhead complies happily, his smile nearly breaking his face. “You didn't just do this to win, did you?”

Mickey shook his head at the terrible accusation. “Fuck off, I wanted to do this. I mean, I want to win whatever fucking game we've been playing, but this – I've been, well yeah, I've been thinking about it for a while.”

“Me too.” Ian whispers, snuggling himself into Mickey's side. “I actually have something to show you too-” He sits up straight, loving the way Mickey's eyes widened at the thought of something being for him.

“Actually, this ain't all I have for you either, Firecrotch.” Mickey admits, sitting himself up also.

Ian's hands fiddle with his own shirt, ready to lift it off. “Okay, we'll reveal how fucking romantic we are together, alright?” He suggests, they were both facing eachother – eyes locked, lips urging to surge forward.

“If you want.” Mickey agrees.

Ian starts counting, “One...two..three-” Ian pulls off his top over his head, as soon as he gets it fully off he notices that Mickey did the same thing. It took him a moment to notice the difference, then he does. On Mickey's chest there is inked writing, just scrawling over his heart, spelling out “IAN.” His breath is caught in his throat, his fingers trailing over his own tattoo against his heart.

“Shit.” Mickey laughs out, his fingers reaching out to his name scrawled across Ian's chest. “You got my name?” He sounds in shock, like his name didn't deserve to be put on Ian.

Ian bursts out into laughter, his hand latching to Mickey's wrist. “How the hell did we get the same thing, like how did this even happen?” It was typical. They both wanted to be romantic and ended up getting the same thing. Mickey wanted Ian on him, Ian wanted Mickey on him. Could they think more alike? How could they both get tattoo's saying each-others name and not know about it?

“Iggy did mine, paid him in weed.” Mickey admitted, his gaze still not leaving his name inked on Ian's skin. It was a reminder, it was a gift, representing how far they had come.

Ian nods, typical. “Colin. He said if I bought him a bottle of Vodka he'd try and do his best, he didn't really know what he was doing.” He laughs, but looks proudly at Mickey's name on his skin, it was worth it after-all. Mickey was always worth the pain.

“Unlike you, I got a professional to do mine.” Mickey teases, shuffling closer to his hand could palm over the ink on Ian's pale skin for longer.

Ian snorts, leaning forward to kiss at the still-red skin that surrounded Mickey's tattoo. “Iggy doesn't count as a professional.” He leads his right hand to trace the curve of Mickey's back, hooking it around at his hip.

“He has a certificate to prove it.” Mickey points out, defensively, gasping at Ian's lips kissing against his sensitive skin. His hand is still pressed against Ian's chest, the feeling of the bumpy name against his fingers.

Ian lifts his head, giddily. “That he stole from that tattoo parlour you robbed last month.” He looks up through his lashes, hand scooping towards the back of Mickey's neck. Resting their foreheads together he starts laughing, bringing Mickey with him.

“Who gives a shit, it's still better than yours so.” Mickey laughs, falling back against the blanket as Ian toppled over him. Hovering, Ian bends down to kiss at the dip in Mickey's chest, one hand holding at the curve of his spine.

Mickey runs his hand through Ian's hair as the redhead slips himself between his legs, resting his chin beside his name. “The N is a little wonky.” Ian giggled, his finger dancing over the last letter of his name that would be forever on Mickey's skin. He loved that it was real. That all of this was real.

The older boy strains his neck to look at it, shrugging nonchalantly. “Iggy started tripping towards the end, his hand got cramp or some shit.” He pulls Ian into the side of his chest, leaning beside him to grab a pack of smokes from his coat pocket.

“He was high when he did it?” Ian rushes, concerned.

“Colin wasn't when he did yours?”Mickey answered, as if Ian had asked the worlds stupidest question, known to man. He lights his cigarette up and passes it over to Ian, blowing the smoke to the side.

Ian pauses, taking a smooth drag from the smoke. “No I don't think.-” He thinks about it, the way Colin was talking more than he was, the way he couldn't stop eating. “Okay, he might have been, he kept laughing and shouting Mickey mouse whilst he was doing it, so.” Ian props his head in the crook of Mickey's arm, passing his smoke back to Mickey.

“Jesus Christ.” Mickey groans, he could of known Colin would take the piss.

“We'll never be romantic, will we?” Ian asks as he places his chin by his name of Mickey's chest. It was true, as much as they tried, it would never be the same as sitting on the couch, just being close whilst watching Double Impact. It just wasn't them.

Mickey eyes him, letting the smoke rise from his cigarette. “Nah, I can't believe we actually fucking tried.” He takes a drag, before adding. “We ain't about fucking flowers and fucking candles, we're rough, we're dirty, we like to pig out and watch shit films. That's who we fucking are.”

“That's a little deep, Mick.” Ian giggles into his side.

Swatting the redheads bare arm, he grins. “I don't give a shit. This-” He points to his chest, the inked skin at Ian's, the blanket around them. “This I can deal with, I ain't got a problem with stabbing myself with a fucking needle for you.”

“Was it worth the pain?” Ian asks, eyes glazing over a little bit. Sensitive basturd.

Mickey thinks about it. Ian had always been worth the pain, the bullets, the pistol whips, the fights in the bar with his prick of a father. Always.

“Every fucking second of it.”


End file.
